


Y is for Young Adult Novel

by vipjuly



Series: ZYX's [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fluff, Librarian Dean Winchester, M/M, Meet-Cute, Writer Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-02-18
Packaged: 2019-10-30 21:11:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17836280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vipjuly/pseuds/vipjuly
Summary: Dean's been working on his manuscript for, like, a million years. Then he meets Castiel.Writing a young adult novel is suddenly a lot easier when you're actually living in one.





	Y is for Young Adult Novel

**Author's Note:**

> i have no idea how publishing works!

The resounding crack of Dean’s forehead hitting his desk when his head slips from the cradle of his palm causes everyone in the near vicinity to look up in alarm. The resulting string of curses Dean lets out as he snaps back in his rolly chair and slaps a hand to his wounded forehead make the onlookers snicker, and despite the fact his eyes are brimming over with tears of pain, Dean glares out at the patrons and promptly shuts them all up with just a look. They return to whatever they’re doing and Dean sighs, leaning back in his chair, enjoying the cushy recline as he gingerly rubs his forehead. 

It’s not that being a librarian is a boring job - he actually loves it - but he’s been exhausted. A few months ago he’d sent off his manuscript to a publisher and when they’d come back with a deal, he quickly adapted to spending every spare minute making edits and adjustments to his work. Publishing a young adult novel isn’t necessarily how he _wants_ to earn his claim to fame, but it’s a good way to branch out; the publishers for young adult novels are much more forgiving than the bigger guys who are looking for the next James Patterson. 

Besides, writing an action-packed fantasy novel with subtle tones of romance hadn’t been too difficult to write. It’s basically a watered down version of what Dean _really_ wants to write - novels packed with mystery, murder, and lots of violence. He’d done a lot of research and had gotten a lot of advice from other accessible published authors and decided that this was the path he needed to take to succeed, and he’s gonna stick to his guns, damn it.

Unfortunately, that meant tiredly obsessing over words he’s looked at a hundred times in the past six months and trying to figure out how to make them better. Even at work in the public library he can’t keep his eyes off his manuscript, often looking over the printed copy with a red pen in his hands between cataloguing and customer service.

Like right now, he’d been re-reading the same paragraph for about five minutes and managed to doze off because he’d been running late this morning and skipped his coffee. Big mistake, clearly, but he can’t go back and fix it now, and he’s just gonna have to suffer through the headache that his literal slip-up caused. 

“Excuse me.”

A deep, smokey voice lifts Dean out of his thoughts and he glances up to the person standing at his desk. His throat immediately goes dry. The man is wearing worn jeans and a threadbare shirt, his skin tan and his dark hair wild. There are smudges of grease on his exposed forearms, oil caked into his nail beds, and his stubble accentuates his sharp jaw and his eyes are the prettiest blue Dean has ever seen and--

“Uh- yeah?” Dean replies, once his tongue is no longer stuck to the roof of his mouth. 

“The university library doesn’t have this book,” the man says, holding out a small slip of paper. “I was hoping to find it here.” 

Licking his lips, Dean mentally shakes himself out of the fog as he takes the slip of paper from the man. He eyes the title and hums, not quite sure off the top of his head. He grabs his computer mouse and clicks it a few times to wake up his monitor, and then sets about looking up the book. After a few moments Dean nods, standing up. 

“Yeah- we got it. I’ll show you.” 

“Thank you,” the man says, his shoulders sagging in gratitude and relief. “I wouldn’t be able to teach my next lesson without it.” 

“Professor?” Dean guesses as they disappear into the rows of shelves.

“Guest lecturer for the mechanical engineering department,” the man says. 

“And they don’t got the material you need?” Dean asks, a bit incredulous.

“My methods are a bit… unique,” the man replies, his voice gaining a sheepish edge. Dean glances at him as they turn a corner, and he shrugs. “I brought half a car into the classroom.”

Dean snorts out a laugh once they reach the proper section. “Half a car? Dude.” 

“There’s a reason I’m a guest lecturer and not an actual professor,” the man says with a secretive grin. 

Dean grins back in reply, and for a moment they just stand there, smiling like idiots at each other. Someone sneezes in the next row over and Dean catches himself, clearing his throat and turning towards the bookshelf. “Right! Well. Your book should be here somewhere…” he runs his fingers along the spines of the books and once he finds the correct one, he harrumphs and then turns to hand it over to the man. “Here ya go.” 

“Thank you,” the man says, taking the book and opening it to flip through it. Deeming it correct, he holds out his free hand. “Castiel.” 

Dean does his best to not let his mouth water as he shakes Castiel’s hand. The dirt and grime is in his nail beds but the rest of his hands and fingers are clean, leading Dean to believe he did his best to scrub up before venturing out of wherever he was. Castiel’s grip is firm and lingers and when they finally part, Dean remembers he needs to reply appropriately. “Dean.” 

“Dean,” Castiel repeats, sounding almost thoughtful. He snaps the book shut and tucks it under his arm, turning to head back up towards the desk.

Shuffling after him, Dean manages to get himself under control as he takes a seat in his comfortable chair, going through the motions of checking the book out for Castiel. Once the transaction is complete Castiel turns to leave - and then stops halfway, glancing down towards Dean.

“Make sure you take care of that before it bruises too bad,” Castiel says, gesturing to his own forehead. 

Embarrassment flaming his cheeks, Dean’s hand automatically flies up to his tender forehead, and he winces with the contact. Castiel chuckles, but not unkindly, before offering a small wave and heading out of the library. 

Groaning and reclining in his seat, Dean stares at the ceiling. 

Castiel is easily the hottest guy he’s seen in real life in a very long time (pornhub doesn’t count) and he’s already managed to embarrass himself. Thinking back, Dean realizes that Castiel probably walked in right when Dean decided to get acquainted with his desk. 

Groaning again causes a nearby patron to shush him, and Dean lazily lifts his middle finger in a salute. 

Hey, no one ever said he was a _good_ librarian.

\--

A week later Dean’s manuscript is more red than black and he’s staring at it forlornly, but at least he’s properly caffeinated today. When a shadow falls over his desk he looks up, thankful for a distraction - it’s been fairly slow today - but then immediately straightens in his seat when he sees it’s Castiel on the other side of the desk. Today he’s wearing dirty blue coveralls, the top half unzipped and the sleeves tied around his waist. The black shirt underneath is stained with sweat and probably other engine-related substances and Dean blinks rapidly to try and not think about giving him a whiff, sending him a slightly dazed smile instead

“Done with the book already?” Hey, his voice didn’t tremble!

“I only had the one lecture this week,” Castiel says, setting the book down on the counter. “I was heading home when I remembered I had this in my car. The library is on my way out of town.” 

“Out of town?” Dean asks before he can catch himself. He occupies his hands by putting the book back into the system, hoping Castiel doesn’t think he’s some sort of creep. 

“I live south of here,” Castiel explains. 

“Don’t like city life?” Dean guesses with a grin.

Castiel answers with a small smile, “I like my privacy.”

Dean can’t help but let his gaze wander down Castiel’s body, “Yeah, I bet you’re a real noisy neighbor.”

Castiel laughs. “As a matter of fact, I am.”

“So,” Dean leans back in his seat a bit. “How’d your lecture go?” 

“Very well,” Castiel replies. “Some professors have a hard time understanding that students like hands-on learning. It’s one thing to learn from textbooks, but when it comes to mechanical engineering, practical application is a much better learning tool.” 

“Are the lessons not hands-on?” Dean asks, genuinely interested. 

“Not for new students,” Castiel says. “It’s a lot of introductory courses. Once they get through the basics they move on to the bigger things, but…” he licks his lips, fidgeting idly with the knotted sleeves of his coveralls. “It’s important to keep their passion ignited throughout the course of their education. Could you imagine wanting to be a painter, and learning all about the history and mechanics of painting from books and videos, instead of being handed a paintbrush and canvas? Or a writer, and told to read a bunch of books before you can touch pen to paper?” 

The analogy hits close to home, and Dean nods in understanding. “Yeah- I get that. Kids can get burnt out pretty quick if they’re not properly occupied.”

“Exactly.” Castiel smiles, clearly pleased at Dean sharing his views. “Fresh out of high school students can get overwhelmed when trying to figure out what path they want to pursue. If I can catch their interest and get them excited about their academic future, then I will do my best to accomplish that.” 

Dean chews on those words for a minute, and then asks, “So… why aren’t you a professor, _really_?” 

Castiel’s smile softens, and Dean is momentarily struck by the way his features smooth out and the lines on his face basically disappear. “The university isn’t the only place I like to inspire people to follow their dreams. I don’t like staying stationary.” 

Tilting his head a little, Dean wonders what that means. What started out as casual conversation with Castiel quickly evolved into something different, and now Dean’s hanging on the edge of his seat, literally and figuratively, wanting to know what else makes this man tick. Good looking, intelligent, kind. 

Oh, no. 

Dean’s developing a crush. 

“Well,” Dean tries to salvage his sanity. “I’m glad I had the book you needed, then.” 

Sensing the conversation coming to a close, Castiel nods. He makes to turn to leave and then, at the last moment, turns an inquisitive gaze to Dean. “What do you do on the weekends?” 

Dean blinks rapidly, trying to parse out how the conversation wandered onto this path, but he finds himself automatically replying with, “Write.” 

Castiel’s smile widens minutely. “If you ever need a peaceful place to find your concentration, you should stop by.” He reaches into the pocket of his coveralls, which aren’t as grimy as Dean initially thought they’d be. They must be permanently discolored from years of use. He sets a business card down on the desk, two fingers sliding the little card towards Dean. “Have a good rest of your day, Dean.” 

Dean watches Castiel leave the library, the scent of engine oil and turned pages of a book lingering. Picking up the business card, Dean reads all the information on it front and back, and then lets out a small, delirious chuckle. 

A peaceful place, huh?

\--

Turns out Castiel’s peaceful place is _Cloud Novak_ ; an apiary, orchard, and workshop all in one. It’s on what looks like good acreage and doesn’t appear to be something Castiel and maybe a few other people can’t take care of - and it’s _beautiful_. When Dean pulls into the gravel parking area on Saturday morning at around ten a.m., it takes a few moments for him not only to find a spot, but a spot that can accommodate his beast of a car. There are a lot of compact vehicles in attendance, he notes.

Grabbing his messenger bag from the passenger seat he gets out of the car with a _crrrk_ from the door, the sound of it shutting getting drowned out by a swell of cheering from somewhere behind the quaint house he’s parked in front of. Unable to help from grinning, he heads towards the sound of the crowd, following a well worn path around the back of the house. Lying in wait is an elegant, large back yard, an acre in size and dotted with picnic tables and wicker furniture. There are a few unlit fire pits waiting for night to fall and all sorts of people milling about; families, couples, children. The cheering looks like it came from a game area, an intense match of corn hole going down between an elderly gentleman and a ten year old.

Sliding his hands into his pockets, Dean starts to wander. The crowd isn’t obnoxiously large, and the atmosphere is relaxed and… yeah, peaceful, just like Castiel had said it would be. There’s a large barn, the doors wide open to show off the neatly stacked hay and what looks like pottery goods for sale, and beyond that is a sprawling apple orchard. There’s a sign that says **BEES! ♥** with an arrow pointing to the right, which causes Dean to swiftly avoid that direction. He knows apiaries are safe, especially ones open to the public, but he’d rather not test fate. 

After a bit of strolling Dean heads to a sitting area a bit closer to the house. It’s not as populated as the game area (someone announced that they’ll be bobbing for apples and that’s a bit too much commotion for Dean pre-caffeine) so that’s where he sets up camp, pulling Castiel’s business card out of his pocket to grab the code for the wi-fi. He wonders, briefly, about where Castiel might be, but seeing how busy everything is he’s not too burdened to find out. Castiel is obviously a busy guy, but a greedy part of Dean _is_ ready to see the man again.

Once he has his laptop open, though, that’s what he focuses on. It’s surprisingly easy to focus here. An employee catches sight of him and wanders up to the table - she’s a cheery redhead with a big smile and a Gryffindor shirt - and instead of standing next to him and talking she plunks down on the bench across from him.

“Hey! I haven’t seen you before.” 

Dean immediately warms to her presence. “Hey. Today’s my first time here, actually.” 

She plants her elbows on the table and grins at Dean. “You must be the librarian.”

Dean’s brain comes to a grinding halt. “Uh- what?” 

“I _knew_ it,” she exclaims, slapping her palm down on the table. She then leans forward the table a bit, lowering her voice conspiratorially, “Cas didn’t think you’d show, but I told him if ya had two eyes you’d definitely stop by.”

“Mmmmmuuuuhhhhhh…” Dean’s not really sure how to reply to that, but it doesn’t matter because the girl keeps talking anyway

“I’m Charlie. Cas’s best friend _and_ best employee. What’s your name?” 

“Dean,” he replies, not feeling uncomfortable per se, but definitely unsure as to how he should handle this situation.

Charlie’s eyes appraise him without hiding it, and then she announces, “You don’t look like a librarian.” 

Dean can’t help but snort in reply. “I get that a lot.”

“I’ll bet you do,” she says, her eyes twinkling with mischief. 

“Is uh,” Dean scratches the side of his nose idly. “Is Cas around?” 

“He was just firing the kiln,” Charlie says, twisting her body to pull her legs out from the bench so she can stand. “He should be finishing up soon. I can tell him you’re here. Did you want something to drink?” She grabs the menu from the napkin holder on the table, showing it to Dean.

He gives it a glance, and then smiles to himself. “Lemonade.”

“Cas squeezes it fresh every morning!” Charlie says proudly. She puts the menu back in the holder. “If you work up an appetite, the pie is to die for.”

“Pie?” Dean echoes, starting to feel out of touch with reality. Is this place real? Did he accidentally walk in to Heaven?

“Yep!” Charlie raps her knuckles on the table. “I’ll be back in a bit.” She leaves as quickly as she’d came and Dean feels properly windswept in the wake.

He stares after her for a moment and then glances at his laptop, trying to remember what he’d been doing before Charlie came over. Unable to make his brain fire on all pistons he shuts his computer and tucks it halfway into his bookbag, deciding to rest his chin in his hand and watch the proceedings of the apple bobbing. After a few moments Charlie returns with a tall glass of lemonade, the ice clinking attractively, and when she sets it down she announces that Castiel will be with Dean shortly. He thanks her, watches her walk away, and lifts the glass to his lips. Flavor explodes on his tongue, just on this side of too acidic, making his lips curl in a mixture of surprise and pleased. 

“Hello, Dean.” 

Setting the glass carefully on the table, Dean shifts in his seat to greet Castiel. The man is wearing holey jeans with a flannel over a white v-neck, the sleeves of his overshirt pushed up his past his elbows. There’s what looks like dried clay all over his hands, forearms, and even splattered on different parts of his clothing, but he’s wearing a smile and his hair looks like it needs to be tamed with a set of fingers. 

“Hey, Cas,” Dean replies. Castiel sits across from Dean, where Charlie had been just ten minutes ago. Dean gestures to the lemonade, “This is amazing. Charlie says you make it yourself?”

Castiel nods, looking proud. “Every morning.”

“Jesus. Do you sleep?” Dean asks, eyes wandering around _Cloud Novak_. “You seem… really busy.” 

“I am,” Castiel agrees. “It’s how I like to be. Idle hands lead to no good deeds.” 

Dean smiles wryly, “I dunno, there’s something awfully good about not moving from your couch for about six hours or so.”

Castiel chuckles, “I’ll take your word for it.”

“Seriously though,” Dean says, looking around the area once more. “This is so much. How many employees you got?” 

“On the weekends Charlie and Garth take care of mostly everything,” Castiel looks out towards the crowd, which is currently cheering on a grandpa holding his grandson by his ankles and dipping him into the water barrel head-first to try and get some apples. “The farm runs fairly smoothly on its own. There’s no admission fee, and when people would like to purchase an item there’s a donation basket by the barn.”

“A donation basket,” Dean replies incredulously. “You just… have good faith that people will pay for the things they want?” 

“Kindness begets kindness,” Castiel says, turning his gaze to Dean. “I’m not hurting for money, but many of my customers are. If they can pay me, wonderful. If they can’t, they still deserve to have something nice for themselves. I sell my honey at the local grocer and use that revenue to keep my apiary up to code.” 

“Wow,” Dean can’t help but say, awe lacing his voice. “Cas, that’s…” He doesn’t have words for how incredible Castiel is. Selfless and kind, talented and warm. Each new layer Dean discovers about the man has him dying to know more, his brain likening Castiel to an intricately folded origami crane. 

Castiel looks humbled, but he shrugs. “If I can make a difference in one person’s life, then I consider all of this worth it.”

“You can’t be real,” Dean blurts.

That catches Castiel by surprise, his gaze turning to Dean, eyes slightly widened. Dean feels his cheeks flush and he coughs to cover up his embarrassment. Castiel’s pretty blues soften when he says, “There’s beauty in the world, Dean. You just have to open your eyes to see it.” 

Feeling more humbled than ever before, Dean takes a drink of his lemonade and mulls over his thoughts. Talking to Castiel is… too easy, almost. Dean hasn’t felt this comfortable with someone in a long time - outside of his doofus brother and the college buddies he’s still in touch with. But Sam, Jo, and Benny don’t offer conversation like this. Castiel’s way of speaking is so simple and yet so… _profound_ , that with each passing sentence Dean feels like he’s experiencing epiphany after epiphany. 

“What are you working on?” Castiel drags Dean out of his thoughts, gesturing towards his closed laptop. 

“A book,” Dean answers before thinking twice. He feels his cheeks flush. Sure, it’s no secret to anyone he knows that his dream is to be a published author, but he’s used to being met with some teasing - so he briefly avoids Castiel’s gaze, fingertip tapping gently against his laptop. “I uh. Completed a manuscript and I’m working on revising it.”

“Has it been accepted?” Castiel asks.

It takes Dean a moment to realize that Castiel is asking a genuine question and isn’t poking fun at him. Lifting his gaze to Castiel’s features Dean feels his insides squirm, the other man’s eyes soft and his smile encouraging. “Yeah- um. Yeah, it has been. Just gotta do some revisions and then send it off to an editor.”

“What’s it about?”

Castiel seems _genuinely_ interested in Dean’s book, which is… strange, yet refreshing. As soon as his own friends had caught wind that it was going to be sold next to Stephanie Meyer on the bookshelves they did nothing but make fun of him for it. He knows it’s not anything personal, and that they’re not actually _making fun of him_ , but it still stings a little. Having Castiel looks so honestly intrigued is confusing but nice, so Dean ducks a smile as he pulls out the printed copy of his manuscript from his bag. 

“I guess I’d describe it as ‘boy meets his guardian angel and they fight a war together’,” Dean explains it terribly on purpose, but Castiel’s smile only widens a fraction, so Dean continues. “A guardian angel has been perched on this boy’s shoulder since before he was even born, and one day, the guardian angel accidentally shows herself. They become friends, and then the boy learns that the whole reason he even has a guardian angel is because his destiny has been laid out for him. He’s s’posed to fight in this big celestial war and save the human race, and his guardian angel helps him through it.” 

Castiel nods, his eyes flicking down towards Dean’s manuscript, which looks like a mess with all of the red chicken scratch on it. “Is it a young adult novel?”

Damn, this guy is sharp.

“Yeah,” Dean says. “Gotta make my way up to the big leagues. Wanna put my name out there before going big with something a bit more adult, y’know?” 

“That’s very modest of you,” Castiel concedes, but the smile widens slightly on his lips. “What is your dream novel?”

“Much of the same stuff,” Dean admits honestly, “but y’know. With more violence and sex.”

Castiel laughs outright, the sound magical. Dean finds himself chuckling in turn, and then, like a couple of freaking idiots, they sit there and chortle quietly together, not exchanging a damn word. After a few minutes Dean shyly slides his manuscript across the table towards Castiel, who has calmed down enough to be breathing regularly. Long, elegant fingers slide over the page, first over the angry red marks of Dean’s corrector pen, and then the digits thoughtfully pass over the printed words, Castiel letting out a soft hum. 

“You must spend a lot of time on this,” he remarks.

“Feel like if I read another word of my own writing I’m gonna puke,” Dean admits. “But I’m kinda stubborn, and I know an editor is gonna look at it, but I guess I’m uh… territorial?, about it. I’d rather all the mean thoughts and questions come from my own brain first so I can prepare myself for a stranger to tell me what I gotta change.” 

“Editors are not the villain,” Castiel says gently, lifting his gaze towards Dean’s. They hold eye contact for a few moments, before Castiel flips over the first few pages, settling somewhere near page six. “We are our own worst enemy. If your manuscript has already been accepted, it’s likely the changes are minor and focused mainly on grammar and continuity than anything.” 

“How do you know so much?” Dean blurts. Blue eyes flick up to him and Dean wishes he could swallow his tongue, but for some reason he’s compelled to continue. “You’re like a jack of all trades, man. You do so much. You’re so smart. Where do you fit all that info in your noggin?” 

Chuckling warmly, Castiel shrugs as he glances down at the manuscript. He seems to read a couple of words before saying, “The mind is an incredible thing, Dean. Learning how to access it is the biggest obstacle. But after that, things flow… naturally.” 

“Sounds like the plot of a bad movie,” Dean jokes. 

Castiel’s eyes flick up towards Dean’s for a brief moment, and then he smiles softly. “Much like opening up your eyes, it pays to open up your mind, as well.” 

Dean squints a little, and he deflects the butterflies erupting in his stomach as he says, “Ok, Gandhi.” 

Silence settles over them and instead of uncomfortable, it’s… quaint. Dean doesn’t really like using that word to describe anything, let alone sharing company with a smoking hot man who is intelligent and witty and is quite adept at working with his hands, but that’s exactly what it is. Castiel’s eyes rove over the words printed on the pages in front of him and Dean sips his lemonade, alternating between watching Castiel and watching the people milling about the orchard. It’s peaceful and nice and Dean is, again, comfortable. The silence in the library is always something he revels in, and when he’s with his buddies things tend to get noisy quickly, and there’s not really an in between.

Here, though, there is an in between. It’s the soft distant chatter of happy people having a day out in the sunshine and in the rustling of Castiel’s fingers turning the pages of his manuscript. Like an umbrella over their heads their company without words shades them from everything else, and Dean does his best to soak it up. 

“Dean,” Castiel finally says, causing Dean to jump slightly. “This is very good.” 

Feeling his cheeks heat up, Dean shrugs a little. “I mean- I dunno.” 

“It is,” Castiel insists, smiling with his gums showing. 

God damn, he’s cute.

“Thanks,” Dean finally says. He’s finished off his lemonade and his bladder feels a bit full, but he ignores it in favor of cataloguing Castiel’s eye crinkles directly into his ‘things that make me feel warm n’ fuzzy inside’ file. 

“I must go,” Castiel says, voice tinged with regret as he checks his watch. “The pottery I put in the kiln should be ready to come out by now.” 

Blinking, Dean belatedly remembers Charlie mentioning something about Castiel ‘firing up the kiln’, and then Dean is squirming his lower half for a reason different than his full bladder. Castiel knows how to do _so much_ , it’s easy to feel a bit inadequate in his presence. “Uh- right. I uh, probably should head out too.”

“Did you find some peace out here?” Castiel asks, his voice and his eyes earnest.

Dean didn’t get shit done, which is what truly happened, but when he thinks a bit harder about Castiel’s question, he finds that the level of non-productivity that occured out here was way more acceptable than what would have come about lazing around in his apartment all day. So he finds himself smiling and nodding, something lifting in his chest. “Yeah, Cas. I did.” 

“Good.” Castiel stands up from the table and sends Dean the softest smile yet. “See you soon.” 

Dean watches him walk away, caught up in the warm feeling blossoming behind his sternum. He shakes himself out of it and then leaves some cash in the napkin holder for Charlie, thinking about how Castiel said things work on an honor system. Incredible. Packing up doesn’t take long and before Dean knows it he’s heading home to his apartment, feeling better than he has in a while. Truth be told, his manuscript has weighed him down every time he picked it up, but now after Castiel’s simple positive reinforcement, Dean feels like he can tackle it again with renewed vigor and fresh eyes. 

_Cloud Novak_ seemingly lives up to its peaceful, reenergizing reputation.

\--

The next time Dean runs into Castiel two weeks later, it’s for a completely embarrassing reason. Dean’s car had stalled on the side of the highway, and while Dean had lifted the hood and immediately diagnosed the problem, the issue was that he didn’t have any of his tools with him to work on her. So, with no cell signal and the sun beating down on his shoulders, Dean had resorted to leaning against his Baby with the hood popped in the hopes that someone would pass by soon and give him a lift. 

It’s a small electric blue Prius that pulls up behind his car, and when the dust settles Dean sees Castiel getting out of the vehicle. Snorting to himself, because _of course_ Castiel drives a car like that, Dean pushes off of his car where he’d been reclining and meets him halfway.

“Heya Cas,” Dean greets. He’s aware of the fact that he’s sweated through his heather grey v-neck, but he’s so exhausted from the heat he’s past caring. “Come here often?” 

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel greets, amusement tingeing his voice. “You must be suffering heat stroke.”

“What makes you say that?” Dean asks, even though he’s grinning.

“Because I believe you just hit on me directly,” Castiel says dryly.

Dean barks out a laugh, glad that he’s so hot because his skin is already flushed. “I mean, you _are_ a sight for sore eyes even normally, but it’s hot as balls out here and I’m dyin’ to feel some a/c.”

“I’ll give you a lift into town,” Castiel offers, even though by this point it’s quite obvious that’s going to happen.

Settled inside of Castiel’s clean car, Dean pinches the front of his shirt between his fingers and tries to pluck it away from his sweaty chest. “Sorry, gonna stink up your car.” 

“Smellier things have happened,” Castiel says as he pulls back onto the road. “Do you know what you need for your car?”

“Yeah,” Dean blusters out a sigh. “If you can take me to the salvage yard I know exactly what I need and Bobby can bring me back out here.”

“Nonsense,” Castiel replies curtly. “I’ll bring you back out.”

“You sure?” Dean asks, hesitant. “You were heading outta town. I don’t wanna keep you from anything.” 

When Castiel chuckles the sun shines brighter and Dean gets filled with a different kind of warmth. “I’m making my weekly honey delivery.” He gestures towards the back seat with his thumb, where there are two crates filled with neatly packed jars of honey. “You aren’t keeping me. I tend to take my time and I’m not on a schedule with the market.” 

“Ah,” Dean replies, nodding. “Well then- thanks.” 

“Besides,” a small smirk curls Castiel’s lips, “I’ve been dying to get under your hood.”

Dean chokes on nothing, coughing violently and pounding his chest with his fist.

Castiel laughs brightly. “Ever since I saw your car at the farm I’ve been wanting to take a look at it. I love classic cars.” 

“Right,” Dean wheezes.

Conversation flows with a little less tension after that, even though Dean feels a buzz under his skin. Castiel brings him to the salvage yard, Bobby calls Dean an idjit, and then with the proper parts they need as well as Bobby’s spare toolbox, Castiel and Dean are back on the road heading to the highway. They don’t chat much, and that’s ok. There’s no music playing, but now that Dean is cooler they have the windows down and he’s enjoying the late spring afternoon. Once they reach Dean’s car Castiel hovers over Dean as he gets to work under her hood, and it’s, in a word: awesome. 

This easy connection with Castiel has Dean floating. Castiel knows his way around cars (which Dean knew from the beginning, considering how they first met) and he listens to Dean respectfully, even though between the two of them he’s the only one with a master’s degree. When Dean gets passionate he doesn’t make fun of him, and by the time they’re done under the hood and it closes with a _clunk_ , they smile a bit dopily at each other, satisfied with a job well done.

Then the thunder claps, the lightning flashes, and the rain falls in sheets.

Both of them yell in surprise and Dean scrambles to the driver door, yanking it open. He looks around for Castiel and finds him where he left him, standing in front of Baby’s bumper with his head tilted back towards the heavens and a huge smile on his face. Dean’s chest has that weird feeling again and when Castiel’s gaze finds Dean’s through the pouring rain, he’s drawn to the other man magnetically. He shuts his car door and walks over to Castiel and, under a spell, they both reach for each other, grins on their lips and light dancing in their eyes as they meet halfway for a kiss. Their teeth clack because they’re smiling so huge, but then their lips slot and their hands find each other’s shoulders and hips and Castiel draws Dean in so tight he loses his breath for a multitude of reasons. 

Firstly, he loses his breath because Castiel is kissing it out of him. The man kisses in a way that is so _him_ and he and Dean aren’t besties, but Dean suddenly feels like, with the joining of their lips and the swipe of their tongues, that they’ve known each other forever. 

Secondly, he loses his breath because Castiel is holding him so tightly. Their chests are flush and Castiel’s strong, capable arms are locked around Dean’s torso under his armpits, one palm resting over Dean’s shoulder blade and the other hand high enough that his fingers are brushing against the short hairs on the back of his head. 

Thirdly, he loses his breath because of the feeling choking him up. Kissing Castiel is like reuniting with an old lover and things had been so easy and casual between them, if you’d told Dean last week that he’d be making out in the rain with a guy he’s only known for about two months and has seen only a few more times than that, he’d call you crazy. But kissing Castiel is as easy as breathing - well, it would be, if Dean could breathe, that is.

The kiss hadn’t gotten too deep but when Castiel breaks their mouths apart Dean gasps anyway, fluttering his eyes open. Raindrops are clinging to Castiel’s dark lashes, streaming down his features in rivulets, his dark hair plastered to his head. Dean realizes that his arms had gone around Castiel’s shoulders, fingers tangled up in his wet hair, and it’s a scene straight out a romcom as they dissolve into laughter and press their foreheads together. 

By mutual agreement they decide to part ways, but not before Castiel reminds Dean that his cell number is on the business card he gave him all those weeks ago. It’s amicable and sweet, and though Dean doesn’t really want to leave Castiel after such a mind blowingly romantic kiss, he’s giddy to be away from him so their next reuniting will be just as sweet.

Ain’t that a fuckin’ cheesy thought.

\--

Even though Dean and Castiel exchange texts frequently, they don’t actually make plans to see each other because they keep running into each other in town. One day Castiel has to drop by the library again for another book. Another time they accidentally ram their carts into each other in the grocery store and get into a discussion as to how to pick the perfect loaf of bread off of the shelves (Castiel reveals that buying the bread from the bakery is where it’s at (when he doesn’t bake his own), though Dean scoffs and swears by _Franz_ ) (also, when Dean demonstrates his ‘squeezing gently’ method to find the _perfect_ loaf, he doesn’t miss the way Castiel’s eyes darken and track his hand’s movement). Even the park isn’t safe from their meet-cutes, where Dean learns that Castiel teaches an outdoor yoga class at the same time Dean likes to jog through the park. 

Each interaction brings them closer, and they get on like a river down a mountain. Through text and occasional phone calls they discover they have quite a bit in common, and every time they meet they talk about this or that, happy to be in no rush towards anything in particular.

And, yes, they’re still exchanging kisses. 

In greeting, in parting, and in the middle of sentences. 

Castiel’s presence is fortifying and inspiring and Dean finds himself flying through his manuscript in no time, more confident with every day that passes.

One day four months after they met, Dean is hanging around _Cloud Novak_ at sunset, watching all of the people filtering out of the orchard, smiles on their faces and goodies in sensible cloth bags that Castiel gives out for free. The farm is totally different once it’s empty of people; Dean takes in the fairy lights strung in the trees, the tealights lit on each picnic table, and feels at peace.

As usual, when he’s anywhere around Castiel.

The sound of the barn doors closing catches his attention and he sees Castiel rattling them shut, his thick arms on display since today he’d chosen to wear a tank top. A rare treat, since Castiel seems to be fairly modest, but he’d been complaining that apple-picking while wearing too many clothes gets hot and sticky very quick. Dean had thought that he’d like to get a different type of hot and sticky with Castiel, and that thought is what had him hanging out at the farm for more than five hours, waiting for Castiel to close up shop.

Dean’s sitting on the back porch of Castiel’s house when the other man approaches, wearing a sated smile. His tank top is orange, the pits and the collar stained dark from sweat, and he’s wearing jeans that had been cut off into shorts at some point. His feet are bare, his hair is a mess, and Dean thinks that as easy as breathing, he may have gone and fallen in love. 

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel greets. He stands on the ground when Dean stands on the third step up, and he grins when Dean bends at the waist to kiss his lips sweetly, slowly. “Have you heard back from the publisher?”

That reminds Dean of the other reason he’d came to _Cloud Novak_ today; a letter from his publisher arrived in the mail, and Dean hadn’t wanted to open it alone. It’s basically the make or break moment, since he’d sent off his final draft of his manuscript last week. This letter is going to either be great news or bad news and the instant he saw what it was, he’d wanted to share the moment with Castiel.

Because good news or bad news, he has Castiel to thank for even sending his manuscript off in the first place. He’d been dragging ass on it for what felt like forever, and then Castiel breezed into his life and things just… fell into place. Dean had caught his second (maybe even his fifth) wind and honestly everything had perked up. His outlook on life, his relationships with his brother and his friends, and well, him too. _He_ perked up, turning towards Castiel like a daisy to the sun, and he’s never felt so good or so like himself. 

Presently Dean holds up the envelope, sending Castiel a tentative smile. “Got it right here. You done out here?” 

“Help me blow out all the flames and then we can go inside,” Castiel says. 

It only takes them a few minutes to walk around the public yard and blow everything out, and when they start walking up the steps to Castiel’s porch their fingers brush and then interlace, Dean feeling braver than he had when he picked up his mail this morning. He’s never been inside Castiel’s house so when the door shuts behind him he looks around the kitchen with interest, taking in the old country charm interspersed between all of the high-end appliances. There’s a lingering scent of freshly baked pie in the air but Castiel tightens his grip on Dean’s hand, leading him through the kitchen and to the living room. It’s big but cozy, the furniture looking well-loved, a huge fireplace where most people would have a television. 

Figures Castiel wouldn’t have a tv in his living room. 

They set up on the couch, sitting turned towards each other. Castiel draws up both his legs to sit criss-cross and Dean brings up just one knee, settling into the soft cushions comfortably.

“Alright. I haven’t read it yet,” Dean explains, staring at the letter in his hands. “Wanted to wait for you.” 

Castiel moves a hand to rest it on Dean’s bent knee. “Open it?” 

Letting out a short breath Dean slips his finger under the flap of the envelope, gracelessly tearing the paper to get to the letter inside. His heart thunders against his ribs as he unfolds the paper and reads the first few sentences, getting as far as _We are pleased to let you know that we have accepted [...] and your hard copy will be mailed to you within the next thirty days._ He drops the letter to his lap and buries his face in his hands, his smile so huge it’s hurting his cheeks, and when he feels Castiel shift he lowers his hands to see Castiel inching towards him, a bright smile on his features. 

“Well?” 

“I’m published,” Dean breathes. “My book- it’s gonna be in my hands in a month.” 

Castiel launches himself at Dean. They tumble backwards and Dean laughs as he wraps his arms around the man currently smothering him with hugs and kisses, joy singing through every inch of his body. 

“Hey,” Dean says on a laugh, reaching up to gently cup Castiel’s face and pull him away from his neck, where he’s sure Castiel has been sucking tiny bruises into his skin. Their eyes lock and Castiel tilts his head in question, and Dean’s breath rushes out with, “Wanna be mine?” 

Castiel’s eyes soften ever so slightly. He props himself up on his hands on either side of Dean’s head and then presses their foreheads together, blue eyes gazing intently into green. “You’re truly an idiot if you think I haven’t been yours this whole time.” 

Dean laughs, wrapping Castiel up in his embrace, their chuckles getting drowned out by kisses.

\--

_To my own Guardian Angel;  
Thank you for raising me from perdition._

**Author's Note:**

> someone call the news, there is no smut in this story  
> a lil apprehensive about the T rating tbh, i think i've gotten so into the groove of giving you guys the goods that i worry about whether or not you'll like my writing when it's smut-free  
> welcome to my insecurities!!!!!
> 
> you can tell me i'm dumb on [twitter](https://twitter.com/deansdaisydukes)


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